The Bone Tree (Penn Cage #5) - Greg Iles Page 0,38

happened already, and might touch the Double Eagles, but I can keep Forrest’s name out of the papers. I can guarantee my son won’t pursue him either, and Forrest will know the value of that. It was my son who nailed those bastards running the dogfighting ring out of the Magnolia Queen. You remember that?”

“I remember.”

“I can’t do anything about the FBI chasing Forrest, but that’s his lookout. There are also certain things I know that could hurt Forrest, as well as Snake and the others. The old guys will know what I’m talking about. I’ll keep those buried, as well.”

With a long heave and a steady driving of his feet, Grimsby finally dragged the corpse clear of the truck. The dead man’s shoes hit the cold earth with dull thuds.

The hit man straightened up and rubbed his hands together, his breath steaming in the chilled air. “What do you want in exchange for all that?”

“I need Forrest to call off the hunt for me and Garrity. That trooper tried to kill me, and he got what he deserved. Forrest can also clear me of the Viola Turner murder charge.”

“How the hell can he do that?”

“By blaming the murder on somebody else.”

“Such as?”

“Yesterday I was thinking Glenn Morehouse, but that might be a little close for comfort, considering he was a Double Eagle. Now Brody Royal and his son-in-law look like perfect candidates. Forrest can hang everything on them.”

“You don’t mind asking for the moon, do you?”

Tom shrugged. “I don’t care if he blames the dead trooper on you, so long as he calls the dogs off me. Have you got all that?”

Grimsby snorted in derision.

“Tell Forrest I’ll be waiting for his signal that he accepts my terms.”

“What signal?”

“An announcement on statewide radio and TV. When I hear that the APB has been called off, I’ll know he’s serious about making a deal. The statement should say that the state police have a new theory and are now pursuing other persons of interest. After I hear that, I’ll contact Knox’s office at state police headquarters.” Tom gestured with the Magnum. “That’s it. Back away from the truck.”

The hit man folded his arms and shivered in his windbreaker. “Are you really gonna leave me out here? It’s fucking cold, man! I could freeze.”

Tom thought about the mountains around the Chosin Reservoir. “You think this is cold?”

“Hell, yeah.”

“Your friend’s a lot colder.”

Grimsby looked down at the corpse. “Seriously, Doc. You gonna leave me without a heavy coat?”

“Take your friend’s and put it over yours. He doesn’t need it anymore.”

The hit man looked up in disbelief.

Tom raised his Magnum, and his shoulder screamed with pain.

“You won’t make it twenty miles without hitting a roadblock,” Grimsby said. “Like I said before, you’re a walking dead man.”

Tom grinned. “Lab tests have been telling me that for a long time, but I’m still vertical.”

Without turning his back on the killer, Tom put one foot on the running board and raised himself slowly into the driver’s seat. Grimsby was still staring down at his dead comrade when Tom put the truck into gear, made a painful three-point turn, and drove back the way he had come. The hit man might be right about the roadblock, but Tom didn’t have twenty miles to go. John McCrae’s farmhouse was less than half that distance away.

With a sudden inspiration, Tom switched off his headlights and slowed down until his eyes adjusted to the moonlight. At this point he’d be a fool to let himself be caught because of being sighted by a chopper or high-flying prop plane. He’d switch the lights back on when he reached the narrow strip of pavement they called the main road around here. The thought made him smile, despite his pain. Whenever anyone asked his wife where she was from, Peggy always said “a little farm in the middle of nowhere.” People always assumed she was exaggerating, but she wasn’t.

Tom had never been more grateful for that than he was tonight.

CHAPTER 11

NATCHEZ SLEEPS IN silence as we cross the Mississippi River, as silent as Kaiser and I have remained since we left the sheriff’s office. The town looks as it has since I was a child, a fragile line of lights strung along the rim of the high bluff, with church steeples standing watch over the populace. Given the ruckus at the Concordia hospital early in the evening, a few citizens are probably sitting up, constantly refreshing the Examiner’s Web page, hoping for a Breaking